


Sugar Dreams

by Ella_Imagines



Category: Barbie in The Nutcracker (2001), Nußknacker und Mausekönig | Nutcracker and the Mouse King - E. T. A. Hoffmann
Genre: Dubcon Kissing, F/M, Female Reader, Implied Sexual Content, Manipulation, Rating May Change, Reader-Insert, Yandere, Yandere Eric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25375918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ella_Imagines/pseuds/Ella_Imagines
Summary: Dreams have always been elusive and strange to you. However, this particular dream has something different to it- a gorgeous man that looks at you in pure adoration.
Relationships: Eric/Reader, Reader/Eric (Barbie in The Nutcracker), Reader/Nutcracker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

The velvet of the covers feel soft and thick under your fingers. You are unsure if the mattress you’re sitting on is the fluffiest in all of existence or if the thick covers just helped with the fluffiness and feeling of sitting in a cloud— you assume both are true as you softly bounce, rocking on the balls of your feet as you look around. 

The intricate gold designs, the soft pink pastel that reminds you of the inside of a rose in the walls, the smell of mint, candy and cinnamon; it all adds to the tingly sensation of being in a dream. A dream you can’t quite get, for there’s nothing happening. You’re sitting idly in this luxurious room, quietly looking around, not daring to stand up or move in fear it might dispel the enchantment of such a beautiful scenery. 

That and you feel incredibly dizzy, eyes heavy and back hurting; but still you keep rocking yourself slightly. It keeps you grounded somehow. 

A soft clicking sound makes you turn to search for it’s source. You find a wide white door opening wide and someone stepping inside, careful of closing the door back again as silently as possible before turning to face the bed— to face you. 

You notice it’s a man, given the height and muscular, lean build. The bright red of his upper suit makes your head hurt, for it contrasts too deeply with the soft colors you are surrounded by. 

Your gaze meets a stunned ocean blue, that feels too bright for it to be real— after all, you’re capable of distinguish the color from such a long distance, around four feet apart if you had to guess. 

“ _Oh_ ,” he gasps softly, looking you up and down, blinking as if he couldn’t quite believe you were there. You would frown, ask what’s happening and where are you; if your throat didn’t feel so dry and you didn’t feel so tired. However, the mysterious man smiles and you notice it’s a soft smile. Charming and relieved; it has your heart beating faster and your cheeks feeling hotter. You blink a few times, trying to dissimulate how much a simple smile from a random handsome man affects you— because _wow_ , is he handsome, you can see it clearly with how fast he is approaching you, his walking a bit stiff with his back so straight. You can’t help but think he looks every bit like a strict and proper prince, a posh kind of guy that you would avoid even looking at in your normal life. 

“Beloved, I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon,” his silvery voice makes you shiver as he brings an incredibly soft hand up to your face, and brush a stray hair back. 

You try, _really try_ , to answer him in a coherent way— but there’s absolutely no way that could happen, even if you were completely conscious and awake. There are various reasons for that, but the main ones being that you’re not this familiar with anyone, much less such an attractive male— which coincidentally, is the second reason to your inability to form coherent thought: Mysterious Man is incredibly attractive up close. He looks like the purest manifestation of every fantasy and things you consider attractive in a man. The soft glow of the sun coming from the windows hitting his chestnut brown hair in just the right way that it looks just as if he had a halo around him, combined with the shine of the gold appliques in his costume like suit, does nothing to help you cope. 

At your lack of response, his brows furrow in worry as his eyes examine you thoroughly. You feel frozen in place as the dizziness and sleepiness from earlier slowly dissipates to let you feel your heart beating erratically. He takes your face in both of his hands, his cool palms feeling heavenly against your burning cheeks as he gets closer to you. He hums softly, before giving you a small smile. 

“I believe you’re not quite awake yet, my love. Why don’t you go back to sleep for a little more time?” He asks charmingly, but gives no chances for you to answer as he bends and places his arms around your shoulders and knees, your hands going instinctively to rest of his chiselled chest. He lifts you up without a struggle for the edge of the bed and places you, delicately, back on the bed. The fluffy mattress dips with the added weigh, almost swallowing you in all the fluffiness and covers. You try sitting up, not quite enjoying the feeling of drowning in fabric and falling on the, admittedly softest, mattress. 

The blue eyed man (that you are still debating if it’s an angel or a demon here to take your soul without any kind of resistance), laughs melodiously, it almost sounds like a soft flute— 

“Am I dead?” you finally ask, realizing this, all of this, is too perfect to be real. The room straight out of an aesthetically pleasing palace with soft lightning, gold trimmings and pastel colors; the man that should definitely be a model with his chiseled jaw and pouty lips that calls you beloved and other terms of endearment; the fluffiest, most awesome bed you could ever imagine— you’re in heaven, and therefore dead, or you’re being tempted by the devil in a perfect dream. 

“Oh, beloved, _of course not_ ,” he says with a slight frown as he sits beside you and takes your hand in his. “You’re here just for a bit of time today… I couldn’t resist the idea of watching you sleep in my bed. I didn’t think you’d wake up, but I’m so glad you did,” he’s smiling again and is your time to frown now. 

“What?” your confusion is made abundantly clear in that sole question. It makes him release a short sigh before starting to caress your face with one hand as the other rubs the back of your hand. 

“This will be our room, once I can find a safe enough portal— do you like it?” 

“Uhh…” you struggle to answer, still not understanding what’s happening. Still, you find it in yourself to nod and look around again. “It’s… pretty. I like the softness of it all… though, I’d kinda prefer pastel blue rather than pastel pink. But it looks beautiful either way,” you rush to reassure him that you like the room despite the little opinion on color. 

“Oh, of course. Blue is your favorite color… I should’ve changed it ages ago. I’m so sorry, my dear. I promise it will be absolutely perfect once you come over again,” he says, sounding way too apologetic for him to be discussing the colors of a room is not even yours. That particular thought and question are forgotten once you feel his plush lips making contact with the back of your hand. “ ** _Everything will be perfect for you, my queen_**.” 

The way he says that whole sentence has a shiver running down your spine, tempting you to go back to being an inarticulate mess that only stares and admires his beauty. 

However, you’ve somehow broken a bit of his spell on you and can think with a little more clearness than just moments ago; and so, you use this sudden lucidness to examine him further. 

His hair looks a bit gelled up, brushed back; but somehow, you can perfectly picture him with soft curls if he was to ever let his hair go unbrushed. He has thick eyebrows, matching the color of his hair and pretty ocean blue eyes you just know you’d gladly spend hours getting lost in. His nose is straight and small, you try to catch any crookedness but find none at all. Then, comes the lips— rosy and pouty, almost as if begging to be kissed; glowing, just like the rest of his skin, against the soft morning light coming from the big ornamented windows. You have a chance to look at his clothes closely too. At first, when you saw him by the door, you had thought it looked like a costume— a prince costume to be exact. However, that idea vanishes quickly once you get to see the intricate golden patterns in his navy blue collar, and you only know that he’s not wearing actual gold threads in his shoulder pads and buttons down his chest because it’d be too heavy. He’s also wearing a rather simple looking white pant suit— that you notice, looks _way too tight_ for comfort, ~~not that you specially mind~~ — along with navy blue boots, also decorated with intricate gold patterns. 

Your time examining him is well spent by him as he gets closer and closer to you, and before you know it, he’s gotten rid of the boots and is now laying right beside you, his hands holding yours and your eyes getting lost in his. 

Suddenly, you feel sleepy again, your whole body feeling dead tired as you let yourself sink further into the mattress. However, through the fog of your sudden exhaustion, you manage to see the mysterious man still staring at you with something akin to adoration shining in his eyes. 

“W-who are you?” you manage to ask, your curiosity managing to outweigh the pull of sleep. He smiles, wider this time, as he releases one of your hands to use his now free hand to play with your hair. 

“I’m Eric, _don’t you remember?_ ” his tone is playful as he softly scratches your scalp, tearing a small moan from you. “King Eric, of the Queendom of Parthenia. A pleasure, _**My Queen**_ ,” his voice is downright sinful as he says the last sentence, once again, kissing the back of your hand as his other hand stays by your hair. “Rest now, you have a physics exam tomorrow morning and I know you’ll do great.” 

You have no energy left to ask him how he knows about your upcoming exam or even question the particular word of “Queendom” and his reference to you as a “Queen” before you surrender to slumber. 

* * *

You awake in your bedroom, your alarm ringing right beside you to remind you of the time. Still, you desperately try to hold onto that strange dream you were having— the smell of cinnamon, mint and candy still lingering in your memory. However, another ring from your alarm makes you jump frightened, finally pushing you to waking up once and for all. Turning the alarm off, you heave a sigh of disappointment. Such a busy day before you… you almost wish you could go back to sleep, try luck on continuing the delicious dream you had. 

So focused on the fading memories of your dream and getting ready for the day, you fail to notice the abnormal shimmer in the eyes of a certain wooden doll you had received years ago for Christmas. Your aunt had said it was meant to be a Nutcracker, but rather than look a bit creepy with a big mouth ready to crack some though nuts, you’d always thought the piece of wood was more of an artwork than a tool and kept it unused, serving as decoration instead. However, just as you are about to leave your room for the day, you feel the overwhelming sensation of forgetting something. Looking around, you try to remember what was it that you were forgetting— until the Nutcracker, sitting at the top of your bookshelf, catches your eye. 

You had named him Eric, in honor to one of your favorite childhood books written by Clara Hoffmann. He fit perfectly with the description of the special nutcracker the girl from the story was given and you hadn’t thought much of it. Now, however, you feel like the name Eric has something to it… your head hurts trying to think of it, but you just know there’s something new about the name, somehow.

You can’t really explain it, but you feel compelled to take the small wooden doll and carefully place him in your backpack, deciding on questioning this weird urge after your physics exam was over and for now, just to roll with it and focus in remembering the theory and steps for the problems you had spent all week solving. 


	2. Chapter 2

You think it’s strange how your heart beats so fast at the dress presented in front of you. It’s even stranger when you notice that despite how beautiful it looks, the beating of your heart does not spread excitement or joy at the prospect of trying it on— quite the contrary. You feel cold dread spreading through you as you inspect the beautiful gold embroidery by the waist, twirling and intricate, forming somewhat of a snowflake-like figure— at least you suppose it’d look like a snowflake if seen from above. The royal blue of the dress just makes the golden pop out a lot more and you can imagine it’d look quite striking on your glowing skin and the princess high neck, along the long diaphane sleeves, make it all the more pleasing to look at. It almost looks like something worthy of royalty. Which is also why you don’t understand what is it doing in your room. 

“Are you _completely sure_ this is the right dress?” you ask your friend again, looking at her with worry. She rolls her eyes exasperated, and understandably so, since you’ve made this question a dozen times already. 

“For the last time, **yes** ,” she runs a hand through her hair, frustrated. “I know it looks super fancy, but the seller and the webpage confirmed that this is your package. There was no mistake.” 

“I just don’t get it, usually when buying online you get _less_ than what you expected, not **more** ,” you say, shaking your head as you return your view to the dress. "I wanted a simple formal dress and I got something fit for royalty."

“Maybe you’re just lucky… or the fabric is really cheap?” she suggests, but she sounds as unconvinced as you feel. The long A-line skirt drapes beautifully, even if it’s laying limply by your bed and you’re pretty sure it’s silk, despite how rare it is for silk to be embroidered now a days. 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you say, gulping down your nerves. “I’ll just wear something else,” that makes your friend snort. 

“You don’t have anything else to wear. You hate dresses, you just bought this one because you were required to go in formal attire,” she reminds you, sitting by your bed and starting to inspect the beautiful garment. 

“Then I stay home,” you say, trying to sound resolute as you walk towards your closet, searching clothes for an unplanned evening inside.

“Yeah, sure, see how well _that_ goes,” she says rolling her eyes and leaning back on your headboard— careful of not touching the dress. “I’m sure Ivan would love for you to be absent and take all of the credit for your project.” 

“Damn it,” you curse, stomping your foot and closing the pajama drawer you had already opened. “That bastard would probably say he did all the hard work when he can’t even make a simple energy estimate,” you grumble, starting to massage your temple, for even the thought of Ivan’s smug voice is enough to have a headache starting. 

“Yup,” your friend nodded grimly. “So, it’s either wearing a beautiful and stunning dress to your own project presentation- _for which you were invited to an investors gala to get to know you and your project better_ -or staying home, depressed and bitter while an asshole takes credit for your thesis and business project. Such a hard choice,” her voice dripped sarcasm as she looked at her nails in faked disinterest. 

“You know it’s not just that. I’m not just going to present my project there and be like _“Obviously, this will save a lot of money and make the lives of millions of people better, so you’d be heartless bastards not to invest on it”_ — I have to convince this living fossils that this is the best option for their cold, greedy hearts… and I’m not sure if I can do that,” you confess, gripping onto your bathrobe tighter. "I'm great with the logistics of it, just not… Selling the idea," you make yourself smaller as you bite your lip, starting to get anxious all over again for the night that is ahead of you. 

You had been doing a great job of keeping your cool and trying to stay positive, bu that had changed when, fresh out of the shower, you had heard your friend screaming and gushing over the recently arrived dress, now at your bed. 

“Hon, you want to make this world a better place, you always have. This is your chance to finally do so, make a difference like you’ve always wanted. Don’t let it slip away just because you’re afraid,” your friend comforts you with a soft voice as she stands up from the bed and goes to place a hand on your shoulder. “You’ll do great… at least better than Ivan ever would. That, I’m sure of,” she snickered and you couldn’t help but to let out a soft smile. 

“Okay,” you sighed before turning back to the bed and taking the dress-with-dubious-origins in your hands and back into the bathroom. 

Slipping it on, you felt a shiver run down your spine. It was extremely soft and it almost felt like it caressed your skin lovingly. Just as you were twirling and looking at the full-length mirror in your bathroom as the dress flowed beautifully, you heard a hard knock on the bathroom door. 

“Hey, hon?” it was your friend’s voice, sounding annoyed for some reason. 

“Yeah?” you answer, going to open the door. As soon as you do, you notice your friend turns her face and twitches her nose a bit, which only weirds you out. “What?”

“Maybe you should’ve held back with the christmas-y perfume,” she says, starting to wave around, as if she tried to fan herself with fresh air. 

You look at her in utter confusion before asking, “ ** _What_** perfume?”

“The one you’ve been using for like two weeks,” she explains, but your confusion remains for you hadn’t changed any of your self care products recently. “The one that smells like candy, cinnamon and sugar. It’s sweet, but maybe you’ve overdone it tonight?” 

“I have no perfume like that,” you clarify, frowning at her. “I haven’t… I don’t smell like that,” you say, shaking your head before leaning your head down a bit to sniff around yourself. The sugar sweet smell your friend talked about hit you suddenly, making you blink in surprise. 

“ _What the—?!_ ” you ask, more than a bit freaked out because of the smell you don’t quite remember how you’ve got. You bring a wrist up to your face and start sniffing down your arm. Each time, your senses are invaded by the sweet smell of a cozy winter afternoon. "The… the dress, is it the dress?" you question, pulling at the sleeves and the skirt, trying to discern if it came with the new fabric. 

"Don’t tell me you don’t remember putting that perfume on. Does it have some kind of drug that makes it smell so good? That would explain why so many people stare at you more since you started using it—” your friend starts to ramble and you lift a hand up to her mouth to stop her from keeping on talking. 

“I have not changed of perfume or soap, I don’t know why I smell like this,” you tell her completely serious. "I… it must be the dress that smells like this, I don't-... How could I…?" you stutter, looking around as if somewhere in your room there was the answer for all of the questions suddenly forming in your head. 

It shouldn't be that big of a deal, you knew that… but something just didn't sit right with you, both with the elegant dress and the idea of having an unknown scent on you when you were already so stressed. 

Your friend must have noticed how much it freaked you, more so because you hadn’t noticed it until she pointed it out (and she had said you’d been smelling like this for weeks-), for she took the hand you had over her mouth and smiled softly at you, trying to calm you. 

“Hey, it’s not that bad. It’s actually quite a comforting smell, maybe it’ll make you more likable to the old geezers you have to convince,” she pats the back of your hand in a silent gesture of support and a way of grounding you back to the problem at hand. Maybe you were hyper fixating on the scent thing because of how nervous you were of your upcoming presentation. Yeah, that must be it. You sigh, letting your shoulders drop along with all the tension the simple “smell” conversation had brought to you. 

“Come, let me help you with your makeup before it gets too late and you rush out without even lip gloss on,” your friend pulls you to sit in front of your vanity mirror as she starts arranging your makeup tools. "If you're going to wear that dress, you can't let them know it wasn't your original plan to look so stunning," she winks at you, before inspecting the colors of your shades and trying to decide which colors would suit you best. "They're all going to feel underdressed when they see you." 

You sigh, slumping against the chair wearily, unsure if it's all going to be as chill and perfect as she describes it. Looking into the mirror as your friend starts telling you her plans for your makeup, you desperately wish you didn’t have to go through all of this, just to make your dreams of a better world come true, wish helping people was easier. 

Unbeknownst to you, there was a place that would accept any change your heart desired to make without such trials and tribulations like this— though, if you had known the price you had to pay for such a place, maybe you would’ve never wished for it to exist. 

* * *

Warmth. Delicious warmth enveloping your body is the first thing you notice, making you sigh with how relaxed it makes your tired muscles feel. Leaning back, you feel a cold, hard surface against your neck… and soon you notice you’re sitting in something with a similar feel to it. It all feels so nice, making your relax and sigh blissfully as you revel in the feeling of warm water calming your aching back. It’d been such a long night. Long, tiring and terrible. Despite your best efforts, Ivan had taken the spotlight of your hard work and even though the meeting and overall night was successful for your project, it hadn’t been so for your own self-esteem. Ah, but you didn’t want to dwell on that when you were having such a lovely bath. Though, you can’t remember preparing such bath… nor entering it… nor even having a bathtub— Your eyes open immediately in alarm, your whole body tensing up as you look around in confusion, trying to find answers as your heart beats wildly. 

“Beloved”, a calm, soft voice calls. You’re unsure if they’re calling for you; still you turn around looking for the source of it. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the male kneeling outside of the luxurious bathtub you’re in. His crystal blue eyes filled with nothing but adoration and awe are uncomfortably familiar. Your mind is quick to supply you with the fading memory of the handsome man from your previous dream, the one you spent days on end trying to draw and remember— the same one now kneeling by your side. You can’t help but notice how his hair looks different than last time. It’s not gelled back and perfect, instead, you remember you had suspected of soft curls being tamed behind such appearance and now you saw how right you were. He’s also missing his prince outfit, now wearing a diaphanous long sleeved white shirt and royal blue pants. 

“Eric?” you question, before you can even analyze what you’re asking or thinking. Your mind feels muddled, slow— not unlike those times you had accepted to go out with your friends and had downed the tequila concoction a bit faster than what was reasonable. However, you’re able to remember your previous interaction with this man with perfect clarity— something that had been impossible every other time you had tried before. 

“You remembered…” he breathes out, his eyes filling with excitement as he smiles and nods at you. “Yes, I’m Eric, my love.” 

“Where am I?” you ask, with a lot more calm than what you thought possible of feeling. As you wait for the answer, you let your gaze wander. The soft golden light makes you think of candle light instead of light bulbs— soon you find a big crystal chandelier hanging from the roof, low enough for you to distinguish there were actual candles on each end of the many levels. It’s easy to lose your worries as you admire the beauty of the room you are in. The marble of the floor had gold textures and a slight blue tint that reminded you of the ocean waves, you notice the details almost in trance as you lean forward towards the golden edges of where you sat. 

“You’re in the bathtub at our royal palace, my Queen,” he finally answers, smiling softly, probably at the way your fascination by the spacious bathroom is so clearly shown on your face. “It has been recently finished to meet your every desire— unfortunately, the bedroom is still being painted in pastel blue and delicate flowers all around and it isn’t quite ready.” 

It takes you a moment to understand his words as your mind still drinks in the beauty and luxury around you. You’ve just noticed a painting, looking like a piece from the renaissance, painted on one of the walls by your sides, when you finally realize the position you’re in.

_You’re in a bathtub… taking a bath…_ **_naked._ **

Squeaking in pure embarrassment, your arms immediately go to cover your chest as your legs bend to press against your torso, water splashing around because of your sudden movements. You can’t really understand how you had ignored the fact of being naked, in front of a man, for such a long time. 

“Oh, my Queen. There’s really no need to be embarrassed, much less with me,” Eric’s voice has a tint of sadness to it. You close your eyes, feeling the foam near your face and distantly noticing that the foam from the bath was high enough for it to cover the underwater parts of your body. “Besides,” he continues, his voice somehow sultrier than ever before, “this is only a dream, Queen Y/n.” 

“A dream?” you whisper, still with your eyes closed. 

“Of course. Just like last time, you’ll wake up in your room in no time,” he hums, but something about his neutral tone cues you into thinking he isn’t particularly fond of what he says.

“Last time…” you murmur, the tenseness of your body diminishing slightly at the memory— for indeed, last time it had felt just as real as it feels now; yet, you had woken up in your bedroom the following morning. 

“Yes, you were in our room. Remember you said you’d like blue better than that tacky pink?” you feel him placing a gloved hand on your shoulder, making you tense up again. Despite that, he keeps his hand there and continues talking. “It’s being changed right as we speak. However, I felt like the bathroom would be more to your liking.” 

You slowly open your eyes, but don’t dare to turn and face him, instead focusing your gaze right ahead. The golden interior of the bathtub seems too bright and luxurious for the classiness of the bathroom… however, you remember the marble, the luxurious glass chandelier, the soft golden ornaments around the walls, complemented with white and pastel blue— and the painting that you hadn’t quite admired in its entirety.

“It is very beautiful,” you murmur after a couple of moments spent in complete silence.

“I’m glad to hear that, my dear,” his voice is gentle as the hand on your shoulder starts to rub soft circles on your damp skin, making goosebumps appear on your arms. “I thought you’d enjoy it more if you got a relaxing bath in it, see for yourself how truly perfect it is for you.” You’re unsure of what to answer, still feeling tense by your obvious vulnerability and his strange words. Nonetheless, you force yourself to say a quiet, “Thank you”.

“Oh, please, my Queen! There’s absolutely no need to thank me, I’m simply but a servant to you, an avid worshipper, if you will,” he waves off your thanks, even chuckling softly as his movements get a little bolder, now softly caressing down your bicep. 

“You told me last time you were a king, not a servant,” you remind him, now daring enough to turn to look at him. 

He smiles gently in response, the gloved hand that was free, now caressing your cheek, “I am a king to the rest of the world… to you, I am a servant, **_your_** servant.”

“I don’t understand,” you frown, rather unbelieving of his words. A part of you realizes how he talks about you as someone of higher status, despite his position as a king— but the implication of taking all of he says seriously is something you don’t really want to do. For the moment, you don’t want to understand any of this, you simply want to go back to your normal, ordinary life and forget about luxurious bathrooms that seem taken straight out of your dream home board in Pinterest. 

“There’s no need for you to understand it right now, my Queen. All will come in due time, don’t you worry,” he tries to reassure you, his thumb gently wiping your face of a stray tear you didn’t even realize had escaped your eye. He searches your eyes and finally smiles when you meet his gaze.

“I… I’d like to go home, _**now**_ , please,” you stutter after a few seconds of him looking at you with so much admiration and making you a bit uncomfortable with how much attention he pays to your every move. 

“Go _home_?” he repeats incredulously, both of his hands halting their soft caresses against your skin. “But my Queen, this **is** your home,” he says with a charming smile, reaching down for your left hand, and kissing the back of it as he resumes the gentle rubbing of your face with his other hand. 

Nervously, you try to get away from him and shake your head before clarifying, “I want to go back to my dorm.”

“Why would you ever want to go back there, where you aren’t appreciated the way you deserve to?” he asks, seemingly angry at the thought of you not being appreciated and his hold on your left hand gets firmer. He reaches again for you, softly taking your chin in his hand and tilting your head to look him directly in the eye. “My queen, if you would stay… you’d see how much better this world, our world, is. Anything you desire would become true. Your kindness would not only be deeply appreciated, but you’d be worshipped and praised as much as you’d like.”

You gulp nervously, blushing at the intensity shown in his eyes. Softly, you try to get his hands off of your bare skin— the way it makes you tingly and warm scarier than anything you’ve ever faced before. However, he doesn’t budge in his hold. 

“I… I’m sorry, but I have a life and projects back home. I have to go back,” you try to explain yourself, despite how his eyes seem to dull at your words. Though, his smile stays, seemingly frozen in his face. “Besides, you said this was a dream, isn’t it?”

It seems like this does the trick, for he releases his gentle hold on your chin and laces the gild on your hand before he turns away from you and answers. 

“ _...Of course_ ,” he grits his teeth as he says this. A second after, he turns back to you, smiling charmingly. “To go back, all you have to do is fall right back asleep.”

“That’s all?” you ask, confused by the simplicity of the request. 

“That’s all,” he confirms with a solemn nod and a gentle squeeze of your hand. 

“Well… I should get to a bed, then,” you say, looking around for a towel to wrap yourself in and search for a bed where you could lay down. 

“Unfortunately, that’s not possible at the moment, my dear Queen. My deepest apologies,” he seems honestly regretful as he bows his head down, his free hand by his chest. You sigh, now leaning against the bathtub, giving up on getting your hand free. 

“That’s… inconvenient. I can’t really fall asleep here,” you murmur, looking at the slowly disappearing foam. True, the water was warm and the scent of lavender and cinnamon was relaxing and calming, yet you still felt tense at the knowledge of Eric being there and how comfortable he seemed with touching you. 

“I’m sure you can, my Queen,” you notice he’s repeating this term of endearment a lot more than any of the others he’s used before, but you refrain from asking. “You just need to relax,” he smiles again, scooting closer to the edge of the bathtub and starting again to run circles into the back of your hand. 

“Like… take deep breaths?” you ask with a furrowed brow. You really can’t see yourself falling asleep in a bathtub, despite whatever relaxation technique he could use or how relaxing the ambient was. You just didn't like the idea of being so vulnerable. 

“Well, that can be one option, but if I may, I have another suggestion,” his smile looks sharper now, eyes cunning with intentions you cannot quite decipher— yet, the speck of doubt that surges in you, goes away with the same ease that he uses to go back to his normal, pleasant, look. 

Convincing yourself you’re exaggerating and overreacting, you calmly answer, “Enlighten me, then.”

“If the bath is to your liking, with a good temperature,” he pauses, waiting for you to approve of his statement, which you do with a curt nod, “maybe a massage could help you fall asleep faster and easier?”

“A massage?” you repeat, eyes widening slightly at the suggestion, immediately starting to search for a cream bottle of some sort. 

“Yes,” he nods solemnly and before you can ask him to hand you the oils and creams, conveniently by his side, so that you could massage your own legs, he continues. “I’m the only servant available, so I’d be the one in charge of it.”

“Ah…,” you nod, more nervous than accepting. Your intention was never to have someone else massage you, but even if you would’ve let that happen, you definitely would have felt better if a female assisted you with it instead of him. “I don’t know if that would really help, Eric. I’m not exactly used to being so familiar with a man, much less a stranger like yourself,” you decide on being honest with him, tell him you’re not comfortable with what he proposes and hope for the best. 

Clearly, you don’t know him well enough, for those hopes are proven futile when he says: “Oh, but my Queen, you seem to forget this is a dream. Please, answer me this: are you not attracted to me?” his seemingly innocent question is accompanied by his hand going back up to your shoulder with a swift caress as he looks at your glistening wet skin. 

The question baffles you and makes you tense up, so much so that you stutter when you ask, “W-what?!”

It's not really that you didn't understand the question but you don't find anything else to say. 

“Do you consider me attractive or not?” again, he asks calmly, as if he was inquiring about the weather and your opinion on it; not his looks. 

“I… I do,” finally, you answer truthfully again, not fully understanding where this is going.

“Well, then I don’t understand what would be the problem," he shrugs, nonchalantly, as he keeps rubbing your skin with his now damp glove covered fingers. "This is your dream and you’re allowed to enjoy it as much as you’d like. Maybe even get more satisfaction than all those times you’ve touched yourself only to still feel unsatisfied after?” he looks up with half lidded eyes, full of something you can't quite understand, making your breath hitch. 

“What?!” your voice is higher as you squeak again, feeling scandalized _(and embarrassed)_ from his knowledge about that certain aspect of your life.

“You really don’t have to feel embarrassed, my Queen, that’s why I am your servant,” he explains gently, slowly taking both of his gloves off before going back to touching your bare skin. The foreign contact makes you shiver despite the warmth from the bath and that is spreading through your whole body. “I’ll take care of any of your needs, all you have to do is say the word. _After all_ , haven’t you always wanted to be an adored queen? A _goddess_ , worshipped by her devoted believer? This is all you’ve ever wanted, my dear. Why fool yourself and hold back when there’s no judgement to stop you?” with each question, his voice gets deeper and somehow more seductive— as well as his eyes seem darker, now like a raging storm in the ocean. His right hand is tracing your arm up and down with a feather light touch as his left one grips your right edge of the bathtub, almost like trapping you inside. 

“This… this feels too real”, you squirm under his gaze, shaking your head as you try to get rid of all the sinful thoughts his mere voice brought to the front of your mind, including the ones that wished for his gentle and teasing hand would touch more than just your arm. 

“So did last time, didn’t it?” he questions, looking down at your naked body, still covered by the foam. When he looks up to your eyes again, you recognize utter adoration and amazement in them. 

“I-I suppose…” you manage to let out as you avert his gaze, and turn to the hand still gripping the edge of the tub. A part of you recognizes this moments as the calm before the storm, but you want to pretend that his previous boldness is now forgotten. 

The hand you were focusing in on moves slowly; enough so for you to stop it if you wanted to. You don't. Soon, he's gently holding your chin again and coaxing you to look back at him. 

“Well, isn’t it logical to assume you will wake up in your bed after all of this and probably forget about most of it?” he reasons, looking down with curiosity that you had to guess was very much faked. 

“I’m not so sure…” you reply hesitantly, closing your eyes and hugging your chest for some comfort.

“Come on, Queen Y/n…,” it almost sounds like a whine to you. “Clearly, this is what you desire the most right now, it is your dream, after all.” Despite how reasonable it sounds, it really doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. You notice the hand by your arm now dips lower, into the water, and softly grazing the edge of your ribs. “Let me be of use, let me serve you… All I want is to please you, make you happy, make your every wish come true. Will you let me?” he pleads in a gentle whisper. Out of pure curiosity, you open your eyes and the sight of his face, now closer to yours, makes you gasp. However, you also notice that his eyes are looking at you with so much eagerness it makes your blush intensify to think he’d be begging for… something like this. 

“I-I…” you try to answer, try to reason that it isn’t right— you don’t know him and you don’t care if this is a dream or not, it seems too real for you to be comfortable with the idea of being so intimate with a stranger. A very handsome stranger, at that… and one that clearly wanted to adore you, if his words were any clue… 

You try to push him, placing your dripping wet hands on his chest to make him back off… But you get easily distracted by the hard muscles beneath the see through shirt and the loud beating of his hard that you can feel clearly against your palm

"Just say yes," he begs, the hand on your face now going to grip your own hand that's by his chest, urging you to feel his wildly beating heart. "Say yes, my Queen, and I’ll take care of everything,” his voice is barely above a whisper but again, the feeling behind it makes you shiver. “Eric… I don’t—” you try again, but you shut up once you look directly into his dark hooded eyes, looking directly into your soul. “Think of it logically, my Queen,” he pleads again, licking his lips in a way you consider a little too provocative for it to only be him moistening his lips. “Me pleasing you will make you relax, enough so that you can fall asleep and go back to your normal life for a while. Don’t you want that?” 

_Now that’s playing dirty_ , you think. He’s using your own desire to just end this awkward and increasingly strange situation.

“I do,” you nod, trying to gulp down your nerves, and steeling yourself to pry your hands from his chest, “but I—”

“Then let me help you relax, my Queen,” he interrupts you. You feel his other hand now softly caressing the exposed skin of your knee and it almost makes you jump in surprise, not noticing when he had moved his hand down. “I promise I won’t disappoint at all,” he smiles boyishly— you could swear there was the slightest bit of pink on his cheeks. 

“I didn’t think you would,” you try to explain as you avoid his gaze, blushing at the topic you were discussing. “I just… I’m not…” you struggle to find the words, but he seems to understand nonetheless. 

“My beloved queen,” he says accompanied by an adoring sigh, “you don’t have to worry about a thing. Please, let me take care of you,” he begs once more, apparently willing to do it all night long. 

“Eric…” you try to plead now for him to stop insisting, but it’s so tempting! He bites his lip as you say his name and you can’t help but feel warm all over. Really, it’s his fault you have such wild thought about his lips when he’s still a stranger, like how soft would they feel on your thighs, or how they’d look glistening not from saliva but rather— 

“May I please, please Queen Y/n, have the honor to taste you?” he asks, firmer this time as he rubs your knee softly, sending electrical shocks from where his thumb is making small circles down to the juncture between your legs. 

You can’t form any words, the pounding of your heart too loud in your ears as you feel your face getting impossibly hotter. You stutter, trying to come up with an answer a couple of times, opening and closing your mouth like a fish under the patient gaze of the king before you. Finally, you close your eyes and simply nod your head. 

If you had kept your eyes open, you would’ve noticed how his gentle, pleasant smile turned downright feral at that slight permission you gave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end, I didn’t include the smut I was planning for this chapter- though I would still like to write it but I’d be publishing it here as another chapter or a one shot if anyone's interested.  
> Also, I love doing this moodboard kind of thing, so I’ll try to do one for each chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> I've not decided wether to make this a full fledged series or not, but there's definitely the temptation to do so. Please comment if you'd like a series out of this concept.  
> You can find me in tumblr as @ellaimagines


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